


Enough

by marimoes



Category: One Piece
Genre: Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, M/M, Mention of Sexual relationship but nothing remotely explicit, Oblivious, Pining, The Paulie/Rob Lucci tag is in reference to Paulie's current relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23213746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: Iceburg has to cope with the fact that a certain blonde may never be his, but also the fact that said blonde won't leave him alone regardless.
Relationships: Iceburg & Paulie (One Piece), Paulie/Rob Lucci
Comments: 1
Kudos: 22





	Enough

Crumpled paper hits the wall before bouncing off onto the floor with a dulled crunch. 

It’s surrounded by several of the same; all crumbled, all half written, and only some are tear stained. Iceburg rips a new sheet out of his book, sandwiching it harshly between his arm and his desk, and his pen again starts to scratch. 

He gets a sentence out and when he moves back to gather more ink, it comes back clean. The container is empty, and with a hard hand slamming into his drawer he finds that he doesn’t have a spare at his desk. In fact, he doesn’t have anything at his desk except for a half empty whiskey bottle, two broken pens, and a nearly empty book. 

He sent Kalifa away days ago and she’s obeyed him in leaving him alone. So far, anyways. 

There are still meals that are delivered to his office in a timely manner each day, along with a warm wet cloth and some tea right before night falls. These are her touches, and for that he’s grateful, but nothing on a silver platter can soothe his aching heart. 

No, nothing on this godforsaken island will bring him peace right now. 

Earlier in the week he heard them; groans and pants muffled by skin behind an older lumber yard, and it made him freeze. His entire being wrapped up in both disgust for Lucci making Paulie groan, but also the guilt for wanting to hear Paulie all the same. 

The sounds still haunt him even now. Ringing over and over in his ears, heavily thrumming in his chest each night that he lies awake. He clings to it like the fabric on his skin as he pants out into silence. 

Iceburg understood long ago that Paulie would not choose him, no matter how much he wished it, and this is what that entails. He has to come to terms that he may never get to cause those same sounds from the blonde that he holds so dear. 

It’s not Paulie’s fault though, nor is it his problem, which is why Iceburg is here. Eyes glassy while his hands again crumble another sheet of paper. He holds it just a beat longer than before, with shaking hands that are nearly held in prayer in front of his face. 

Paulie asked to see him today. 

Iceburg only knows because the vent in his office leads downstairs and he listened as Kalifa turned him away. How her tone was as cold as his heart felt when that baritone echoed into his room. Paulie seems to have that effect on Iceburg. Always turning him cold in ways he’s never felt before. 

When did he feel warm?

He knows when. When Paulie would reach up and grab his shoulder on the days that they worked alongside each other early on. When Paulie was just learning and Iceburg was more than willing to teach, it made him happy that Paulie was eager. 

A feeling helped along by his goofy grin wrapped around a cigar while he asked endless questions. Each and every one Iceburg was excited to answer. 

It’s like that less and less these days. He should be proud that his student is doing so well and able to hold his own without him. It’s the hope he has with everyone that he teaches—and yet.

Paulie has always been different and part of Iceburg suspects he always will be. 

Flinging with a yell, the paper hits the far wall before falling quickly to join the others and with it Iceburg too falls. His head lands on the desk with a resonating slam and the pain doesn’t even register. 

Nothing does but the slow ache of his bleeding heart. 

A solid knock slams against his door with a similar force and when he doesn’t answer it, they knock again. Only this time it’s incessant. A rapid pattering of knuckles on wood and Iceburg lifts his head slightly to peer across the room. 

The shadow hanging low under the edge makes him squint, but the breadth makes him rule out Kalifa. It’s a man.

“Oi!” 

“Fuck,” Iceburg huffs, letting his head fall back against his arm. The last person in the world that he wants to see is at his door. Or perhaps that might be Lucci? He isn’t sober enough to make the list, just enough to know that Paulie is on it. “Go away!” 

“I’ve _been_ away for four days! Open the goddamn door or I’m breakin’ it and fixing you a new one later,” Paulie threatens, foot now pushing against the middle of the left door and it rattles under his shifting weight. 

Iceburg knows he’ll do it. Can see it all happen, really, and that somehow makes things worse. Sliding from his chair like snow off a roof, he’s up all at once with the world spinning around him. Somehow his feet find their pattern and before he can start to second guess the decision, his hand is turning the knob. 

It’s cold against his skin and it draws him back to reality a little—just a little—before the door starts to push towards him. 

Paulie’s face presses against the crack, working along with his body to shove it the rest of the way open, and when Iceburg takes a step back he stumbles in all at once. With shoes scuffing against the floor as he struggles to adjust, Iceburg slowly steps back. His eyes are still focusing poorly behind the glass of his lenses and for a minute he thinks it's a dream. 

A terrible one. Rude, quite frankly, if you ask him. 

“God, finally,” Paulie sighs while lifting up to stand. He twists, popping his back in an offbeat cadence, before readjusting. When he turns to look at Iceburg his hair is mussed, along with goggles that hang off kilter, and a just as crooked smile. 

“God, what?” Iceburg asks with a less enthusiastic tone. He’s so tired. The world is cold and all he wants is to lay down on the mat next to his desk and sleep until this feeling in his chest is gone. It’s what’s easiest. After all, it’s worked before when the situation arose. “Well, is someone dying? Something burning? What could you need from me? You’re fine.” 

Paulie’s eyes widen before he takes a step forward, hand outstretched. Iceburg wants to move out of his path. He wants to dump the stupid stupid blonde man back outside his office where he can’t hurt him anymore. Where he won’t smell good, and smile, and—

Warm fingers curl against the crinkle of Iceburg’s dirty shirt and for a split second it doesn’t feel real. As if Iceburg’s mind was good enough to manufacture all of this just so he can get some closure. 

But it’s not his mind, and he won’t get closure. 

“You’re not! I’m worried about _you_. We all are, of course, that’s a given—but me especially,” Paulie says softly, tone low like he’s trying to coax a wild animal. Iceburg nearly may be at this point. “It’s not the same without you coming through every day. It’s not even been a _week_ and the docks feel so weird without you on them. What’s goin’ on with you? Talk to me.” 

“Talk to you?” Iceburg says before his mouth can catch it. His tone is sardonic, heavy on each word like it’s a puzzle instead of a repeat. His mind leaps forward once more and yet he again says, “ _Talk to you?_ ” 

Paulie’s hold doesn’t falter, but his hand does tremble. It’s gentle, along with the feeling of his dull nails now sliding to dig into Iceburg’s bare shoulder. The sensation knots in his stomach but he can’t focus on it. Iceburg’s focus is still on Paulie’s eyes and they ask another question in response to Iceburg’s: _What’s wrong?_

It isn’t like the previous question he just verbalized; this one is far different. 

This one comes with years of working together. When everything is so loud that all you can do is communicate with looks. Paulie and Iceburg have gotten very good with speaking with their eyes, and right now as they lock on to each other — it’s war. One waged with questions going back and forth with neither man willing to relent. 

It’s terrible. 

It’s them. 

It’s all they are. 

“Well, why are you here? I thought Kalifa turned you away,” Iceburg murmurs, question more to himself than to Paulie. By all accounts he shouldn’t be surprised that Paulie didn’t listen, but still. His head turns to look towards the half open door, and he sighs. “Why, Paulie?” 

“Where else would I be?” Paulie quickly snaps back. 

The sincerity in his tone is honey born of a sourwood tree. It is sweet, genuine and free flowing, but it leaves a bitter taste in Iceburg’s mouth. _Where else would you be? In his bed, maybe._ Iceburg thinks, but manages to not say, and calmly places his hand over Paulie’s. 

The sensation of skin on skin meets Iceburg like the first warm day in the summer. 

Waiting and waiting all year to finally have it, and when the sun warms your face for the first time, you feel free. Paulie’s skin is like fire beneath Iceburg’s hand, but he is not free. The chains that bind Iceburg’s heart have him held. 

“I don’t know,” Iceburg finally answers. The words now sitting on either side of a negotiating table between the men. 

He knows it isn’t good enough for Paulie, but maybe it can buy him some time. To sober up, to really think this through. 

Instead of responding, Paulie’s focus shifts from Iceburg to the rest of the room. When his eyes catch the pile of crumpled papers, his hand pulls away. Motor skills not being his strong point at the moment, Iceburg swipes out to try and stop him but falls short. 

Paulie is moving too fast for him and Iceburg’s heartbeat starts its climb up his throat. 

“Paulie, _please_ don’t touch those.” The words are far more desperate than a plea coming from Iceburg’s mouth, but he should know better by now. Once Paulie is focused there is no bringing him back. 

A wonderful trait in every other circumstance than this one. 

He bends over and picks one up, unfolding the crumpled wad of paper, and squints at the writing inside. Iceburg has caught up by now, but sways with hands on Paulie’s shoulders for a means of support. 

“What are these, Iceburg? I can’t make a damn thing out of your handwriting. I know it’s yours, seein’ as no one else on this island writes p’s like that.” Paulie mutters and holds the paper up to what little light is in the room. He twists it, eyes squinting as he struggles to make out the words. “‘Never—be—want.’? HEY! My name is on this!! Iceburg are you trying to write up a termination letter or some shit? I won’t stand for it!” 

Paulie’s voice has grown loud, booming around the stretch of the room, and Iceburg jerks him around to face him. The paper is now crumpled back together in Paulie’s tightening fist and it drops to the ground with a small click. His chest is heaving, a quick rise and fall that is likely filled with another yell, along with a string of obscenities that Iceburg would hate to hear. 

Paulie’s understanding couldn’t be farther from the truth. 

“No, Paulie,” Iceburg sighs and moves his right hand upwards to cradle the side of Paulie’s face. His beard is grown in more than usual and Iceburg has a feeling it’s because he hasn’t shaved since he last saw him. “I’m not firing you. Well, it would be pretty terrible to lose my best foreman.”

“Then what are all these papers for? What’s it got to do with me and what’s it got to do with you being locked up in here? This isn’t like you!” Paulie’s eyes are wide with far more than confusion now. He’s hurt. The very thing Iceburg wanted to avoid is standing in front of him with a reddened face. 

“I can’t do this,” Iceburg whispers. 

A wash of exhaustion swallows Iceburg whole. An aqua laguna of his mind’s own devising, and he’s swept away. Dropping his hands, Iceburg takes a step back with the ocean in his stomach still churning and turns back to his desk. 

If he can sit there, he’ll have control again. If he can just rest his head against the wood, the world won’t feel like it’s sideways anymore. 

Paulie reaches out and grabs a handful of Iceburg’s shirt and tugs on it, but Iceburg continues forward. He has no words. The paper on the floor proves as much, doesn’t it? They’re lost, held between the stretch between his head and heart, gone into a void he can’t navigate.

Not when Paulie is here.

“I can’t do this, Paulie,” Iceburg says again, voice a little louder. A soft croak catches the ‘p’ of Paulie’s name, and he can hear Paulie step back. Just a single step and with a deep breath Iceburg continues forward. “We can talk about it tomorrow, maybe, but I can’t do this right now.” 

Paulie huffs, a low indignant noise, and Iceburg almost turns back to look at him. Instead his feet carry him forward, softly dragging against the wood until they meet the rug. With his desk like a guidepost, Iceburg’s hand spreads against the surface to stabilize himself before dropping back into his chair. 

The world is slower here, and Iceburg’s mind begins to clear. 

“If you really want me to, I’ll leave, but answer me one thing,” Paulie says, voice tight with command Iceburg only hears him give to others. 

Iceburg’s eyes open against better judgement and Paulie is there on the other side of the desk, hands planted into the rosewood. His eyes are shaking while they focus, a gentle quiver, and his lips do the same. 

“Whatever it is that I’ve done, can I fix it?” Paulie asks, voice strained, and when Iceburg opens his mouth to answer he waves a wild hand upwards to stop him, “No. I don’t need to know what I’ve done. I just need to know _can I fix it_? If I can’t repair something... then what good am I to you?” 

Iceburg blinks and unbeknownst to when it started, tears that were collecting in his eyes spill openly onto his face. He can’t, can he? 

“It isn’t—” Iceburg starts and leans up to reach across the table, palm up in question and when Paulie takes it he swallows, “This isn’t your problem Paulie, please, you can’t fix it when you didn’t break anything.” 

Paulie squeezes his hand once but doesn’t release his hold. 

“Fine. If you’re _really_ sure, I trust you,” Paulie replies and takes a slow deep breath before continuing, “but promise me that when I can help, that you’ll let me. And also that you’ll go take a shower for once while I get you some food. I can’t leave you like this; you’re disgusting.” 

Paulie is smiling, just barely, and it makes Iceburg smile too. 

Iceburg nods, weight falling off his shoulders, and reaches up with his free hand to poorly wipe the half-dried tears from his face. It’s only then does he feel how grimy it is, slick yet waxy beneath his fingertips. For the first time in days, Iceburg wonders just how terrible he must look. 

“Well, alright,” Iceburg says and squeezes Paulie’s hand tighter, “where are you going to get something at this time of night? Everything is closed.” 

Paulie grins again, a sly sort of smile that makes Iceburg’s heart turn over in his chest, “I just happen to know a gal that makes some fantastic curry, and I also know that she’s open any time for someone like you.” 

A laugh bubbles up from Iceburg’s chest, catching him by surprise as it leaves his mouth. And just as the first one came, others soon follow and Paulie himself joins in with his own low chuckle. 

Maybe he’ll never be with Paulie. That’s a reality Iceburg will have to accept. But regardless of winds that blow across this island, the ships that come and go from the various ports, or who holds Paulie late at night — he’ll always have him. 

And for Iceburg that’s enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> Heard a really yearny song, Songbirds by Ben Thornevill, and all I wanted to do after that was write pining Iceburg. Turns out it hurts just a little.


End file.
